


Dublin Cycle

by Orlissa



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Dublin Cycle, F/M, Fluff, Haylie/Ada/Ellie verse, Smut, post 1x08, s1 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 17:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15912711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orlissa/pseuds/Orlissa
Summary: *REPOST*In another universe, their night in Dublin ended differently--more precisely, in bed.Or: series of interconnected one-shots of Skye and Ward banging in Dublin after The Well.Now, due to popular demand, the fan-favoriteDublin Cycleis here in a form that is so easier to find.





	1. Inevitability

**Author's Note:**

> The Dublin Cycle might be one of my most successful work--it seemed to be a fan-favorite from the moment it first hit the net, and I still remember the joy I got when I posted the sequel. But it was always a problem that it was posted as a part of a smut one-shot collection, which, in hindsight, made it hard to find. 
> 
> So I'm reposting the whole thing now, as a seperate story. I edited it a bit, corrected the typos and such, but otherwise, it's the same text as it can be found in the _Pages Torn from the Book of Love_ collection. Still, I hope you'll enjoy it if you decide to give it a re-read (or read, if you haven't encountered it yet).

In hindsight, it was completely inevitable. She had it coming from the moment she sat down next to him in the bar—hell, she had it coming from the moment he opened the door of her van, and looked at her all smug and cocky from behind his sunglasses.

But tonight was definitely a turning point—with him accepting, if not her offer to talk, but at least her company, letting her in a little and daring to show her that he, too, was vulnerable. And so they talked, maybe not exactly about what she had originally meant to talk about, but they talked and exchanged bittersweet smiles and laughed at lame jokes, and she soon found herself leaning closer and placing her hand on his knee and flirting with him without meaning to—but then there was that glint in his eyes that told her it was not at all unwelcome. And then he was leaning in too, casually covering her hand with his on the counter, drawing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb with surprising gentleness.

A look, a touch; and it was enough to make her desire stir.

So yeah, it was absolutely no surprise that, when they finally decided to turn in for the night, she was moaning into his mouth as soon as they were out of the bar.

(Honestly, she has no idea who made the actual first move—one moment he was opening the door for her and slipping his arm around her waist in the most respectable manner, and then the next her hands were fisted in his shirt and she was thrusting her tongue into his mouth.)

(So yeah, she might have made the first move.)

It was a smaller miracle that they got to her hotel room—hers, simply because it was closer than his—before they started all but ripping off each other’s clothes.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, he was backing her against it, pressing her against the wood, taking her face in his hands and kissing her with fervor, biting her lower lip, then moving down and sucking on the column of her neck, making her knees weak. She sighed and panted as he worked on her, her hand on his head, fingers buried in his short, dark hair, pressing him closer. When he bit into the flesh where her neck and shoulder met, with just enough force to cut off the circulation for a moment, then lapped at the spot, soothing the sting, she moaned out loud and pushed herself against him.

As great as it was to stand there and make out, it was soon becoming _not enough_. She needed to be closer to him—as close as she could get. She needed to feel his hands on her, needed his bare chest pressed against her, needed him deep within her… God, she needed him.

Urged by the hot wetness pooling between her legs, she slid her hands down his back until she reached the hem of his shirt—tucked in so messily, in a way that was doing _things_ to her—, she pulled it out and inched the fabric up, slipping her hands under it and splaying her fingers on the warm skin of his lower back for a moment, before pulling the shirt even higher, leaving no doubt about her intentions of getting it off of him.

He reacted with the same swiftness and determination as he always did. His hands moving from her waist, he grabbed the hem of his shirt, and, taking half a step back, he pulled the garment off and threw it away in one fluid motion, revealing the smooth skin and hard muscles underneath.

She barely had time to marvel at his naked chest—and there was a lot to marvel at—when he was back on her again, this time reaching for the bottom of her shirt and pulling it off of her, almost aggressively with desire. She raised her arms obligingly, helping him to get her rid of it, and as soon as it was off, not even waiting for him to turn back towards her as he tossed her shirt away, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra (her stupid, polka dotted bra that so didn’t match her panties; now she really wished she had put on something sexier). By the time his gaze turned on her once again, she was already pushing the straps off her shoulders, letting the garment fall to the floor in front of her feet.

She saw his pupils dilate and his Adam’s apple bob as his gaze fixed on her breasts (she couldn’t help the smug grin that appeared on her face), taking in their fullness and her dark nipples, standing erect from arousal ( _hah_ —she’d always known he was a boob man). Then he moved again, swift, like a predator attacking his prey, his hands cupping her face, his mouth on hers, kissing her without mercy, making her moan and whimper.

Impatience soon getting better of him, his hands slid down; he grabbed the top of her thighs and lifted her, squeezing her ass and crashing her body against his, holding her high enough that he could wrap his lips around her nipple, making her scream. Not pulling away for a moment, he carried her over to the bed and dropped her on the soft mattress. Bouncing slightly, she sat up, just in time to see him pull the zipper of her boots down, pulling them off her feet, before reaching for the button of her jeans. Helping him, she lifted her hips, biting her lip and breathing heavily as she watched him all but yank her pants down her legs along with her panties, leaving her stark naked on the sheets.

Then there was a pause; a short one, but a pause nonetheless, during which he stood up, and just watched her, unveiled arousal in his eyes as his gaze skimmed over the curves of her body. The pure hunger and need written on his face made her bit her lip in anticipation and clench her thighs together, seeking some kind of friction.

“You have no idea how long I have been dreaming of doing this,” he said, his voice deep, hoarse with lust.

She couldn’t restrain herself from cocking an eyebrow at him and giving him a mischievous, challenging look.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

 That was enough to break the spell—the corners of his mouth pulling into a half smile, he reached for his belt, not taking his eyes off of her for a moment.

But before he could have gotten the belt unbuckled, she reached out and put her hand on his wrist, stopping him.

“Let me,” she said, looking deep into his eyes.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, she slowly lowered her gaze and leaned closer, then put her lips just under his navel, kissing the surprisingly soft skin there, drawing a line on his stomach with her tongue (she felt his muscles twitch). She heard him let out a long breath, then with one of his hands on her head, his fingers buried in her hair, she pulled away, gave him a seductive glance from under her lashes, and then slowly pulled the end of his belt free.

Despite the desire thrumming inside of her, urging her to get him naked as soon as possible, she took her time; unbuckled his belt slowly, popped the button whilst looking up at him and licking her lips, then pulled his zipper down, almost tooth by tooth. Finally, slipping her fingers under the waistband of his bulging black boxer briefs, and pulled him free.

She had to sit back for a moment.

Because… it was… _wow_. She had always known that he must be packing—big, tall guy like him, with such a confidence, she knew he had to be… _sizeable_. But what was right in front of her eyes was beyond her expectations. Aroused and fully erect, his cock stood impossibly long and thick in front of her, the tip the purplish head gleaming slightly, the veins along his shaft standing out.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed hard.

He was easily the biggest guy she’d ever been with—while she had never thought that Miles was lacking in this department (although he did have some issues with technique that often left her unsatisfied, to be honest), his size paled in comparison to Grant’s. So much that she couldn’t help but wonder—was he even going to fit?

Grant, with his acute awareness of her even in his pleasure-addled state, sensed her momentarily lapse of focus.

“Is everything alright?” he asked with surprising clarity, slight concern in his voice, as he moved to kneel in front of her to get to the same level as her.

Blinking and still staring at him (he was sort of beautiful), she placed her hands on his hips, on the straining cords of muscle, stopping him.

“Of course,” she said, looking up at his face with cheeky, disarming smile playing on her lips. “It’s just…” she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, giving him a confident pump, making his breath hitch, “I’ve never thought you were porn star-quality, at least as far as size go, that’s all.”

Somehow having—at least partially—regained his composure, he looked down at her with a cocky, smug smile on his face—oh, she was so going to get back at him for that.

“And here I thought you’ve already gotten a decent look at it,” he said, wrapping his own fingers around her hand, as if to encourage her to feel his thickness, and to have an idea what was waiting for her.

For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about (to be honest, she had much more exciting things to focus on), but then it clicked—the glasses. He knew about the freaking glasses. That bastard.

“Maybe less talking and more action, please?” she told him, lacking any sharper retort. “I’m about to combust here, and if you don’t do something about it really soon, I will have to take care of it myself.” And, just to prove her point, she spread her legs a little wider, and slipped her fingers between her folds, letting out a sultry moan as her fingertips brushed against her clit. “And neither of us would want that, right?”

He got the hint; with fire in his eyes, he quickly removed all his remaining clothing, leaving his pants pooled on the floor, and, finally as naked as she was, he climbed over her, making her crawl back towards the middle of the bed. His knees between her thighs, his hardness pushing just slightly against her core (driving her mad with desire), he lowered himself and kissed her once again, hungrily and with bruising need, making her moan.

“I am going to make it so good for you,” he promised in a hoarse whisper.

She was just about to make some comment along the lines of he’d better not promise things he cannot deliver, but he was faster than her. He moved down her body, first kissing down the column of her neck—robbing her of breath—, then took her nipple into his mouth once again, sucking at the hardened nub. Her back was already arching from the bed at this point, but he held her down, and continued his journey downwards, trailing his lips along the flat planes of her stomach.

She cried out loud when he slipped two fingers into her core and curled them.

And then his mouth was on her too, tongue lapping against her clit as his fingers moved inside of her in a teasingly slow rhythm. She bucked her hips against him, trying to get closer to him and get him to move faster, but he held her down, pinning her to the mattress. With her pleasure-addled brain she slowly realized what he was doing—he had no intentions of making her come, at least not yet; he was just working her, getting her ready, warm and wet and welcoming, for the main act.

And he really did raise his head from between her legs a couple of moments later, leaving her panting, wanting, aching, her core dripping.

Then he was climbing back up on her body once again, one hand pulling her left thigh up, opening her up, while his lips sought out hers, kissing her with urgency, leaving the taste of herself on her tongue. She could feel his hand moving between them as he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly, his voice strained, as if it took all of his self-control not to just pound into her. Oh, she couldn’t wait.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice barely audible as she searched for his lips with half-closed eyes. She heard him moan, as if the mere thought of being inside of her caused him pleasure, then his fingers were on her clit, and he was sliding his cock between her folds, coating it with her juices, readying himself for entering her.

“Wait!” she said suddenly, led by a sudden idea, right before he could have pushed inside of her. He stopped right away, his body tensing with concern (it amazed her, time and time again, how considerate, how attuned to her needs he seemed to be). Not wanting to worry or torture him, she gave him a cheeky, confident grin. “I want to be on top.”

The confusion disappeared from his eyes right away, and was replaced by pure lust. One corner of his mouth pulling into a half-smile, suddenly he put his arms around her, and swiftly throwing his weight around he switched their positions (making her squeal), until he was lying on his back, with her straddling his thighs.

“Wow,” she chuckled, throwing her hair behind her back. “How nice is the view from here,” she said, putting her hands on his chest, splaying her fingers wide, slowly sliding them down.

“Believe me—it’s better from here,” he countered, eyes fixed on her breasts as he rose a bit, supporting himself on his elbows, and took one of her nipples into his mouth. It was very much like the first time he had done that—as if an electric current had gone through her body, making all of her nerve endings tingle in the best possible way. She arched her back, letting out a moan so loud it would have made her embarrassed on any other day.

What was in this guy that turned her on so much?

She had no idea—well, she had several ideas—, but she was sure of one thing: she couldn’t wait any longer.

As he let go of her nipple, she placed her hands on his shoulder, and pushed him down, until he was lying flat on the bed once again. Then she grinned cheekily at him, and took his hard, throbbing member into her hand, giving him a hard pump, making his breath hitch.

And then she was rising on her knees, inching slightly forward, until her opening was right above him, letting his head slip between her outer folds, massaging her clit.

It was already so good she was losing her mind—and, from the look on his face, it was a sensation they shared.

“Let me,” this time it was him who said that, one hand high on her thigh, the other on his shaft, steadying himself. She nodded, letting go of his cock, and putting her hands on herself, parting her lips slightly so she could feel him slip inside her and could guide him, help him along, have him where she wanted him the most.

There was one last moment of doubt—could she take him? All of him?—, and then she was sinking down on him.

She doubted she had ever been more aroused, she was ready and dripping, and she was taking him in slowly, inch by glorious inch, but he was still big, biggest that she’d ever had, and he was stretching her to her limit, almost to the point of pain, making her moan and forget about herself. Once fully sheathed in her, filling her completely, he was reaching parts of her no-one had ever reached before.

She sat motionless for a moment, panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as she fought the urge to move while trying to get used to his size—giving her body time to adjust, to accommodate his girth, because she was half-sure if she started riding him like her body was urging her to, she’d come undone along the seams.

He was still, too; his hips buckled slightly once or twice, and he was groping the top of her thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh with such a force she was sure he was going to leave bruises, but he remained still, giving her all the time she needed—even though she could see on his face how hard it was for him.

And then she started moving—rocking gently, testing the waters, angling her hips carefully, so he’d slip out an inch before sliding back in, the tip of his cock hitting her walls just the right way. In the end, it was easier than she had expected it to be—once experienced what it was to have him inside of her, her body welcomed him; it still pinched a bit, but the sensation was fading fast. Her juices coating him, he moved easily inside of her, making her feel like this, this experience was what she had been waiting for all her life—as if they had been created to fit, destined to be each other’s (as cheesy as it was).

Soon, he was moving too, matching her rhythm as she sped up, rocking her hips and bouncing up and down, the two of them almost separating, his hardness almost slipping out of her before he slammed back in, hitting spots that were making her cry out, loudly and wantonly, her head thrown back (in the back of her mind, she was grateful that it was happening in the hotel—they was no way they could have done it on the Bus without everyone knowing).

One hand still on her thigh, almost at her hip, the other having found its way first to her hair, burying his fingers in her locks for a moment before his palm slid down to her breast, squeezing the full, fleshy mound, he somehow took the reins, even from under her. Soon, he was dictating the rhythm, his hips moving wildly, ramming into her with great precision, making her eyes flutter closed and fireworks burst behind her eyelids as she threw her head back and sighed and moaned and cried.

“That’s it,” she heard him say, not stopping or slowing down for a second, his voice strained and low and impossibly arousing. “Don’t hold back—give me everything you’ve got.”

He’d trained her well—she obeyed orders now (most of the time), and she obeyed now, speeding up even more, her movements becoming erratic as she slammed back down onto him forcefully, squeezing her walls around him until she lost sense of where she ended and he began. He was a part of her now, deep, deep within her, lifting her to heights she’d never visited before.

And then—it was over. The tension that had been coiling in her body eased suddenly, snapped like a rubber band, pleasure running though her nerves in overwhelming waves, reaching the tips of her fingers and making her scalp tingle and her toes curl and her whole body shiver and tremble as she cried out, spasming around him and squeezing him from the inside, ripping her away from reality from one long, never ending moment.

She was marginally aware of her orgasm triggering his—he held her hips even tighter, fingers digging into her soft flesh, as the tendons on his neck strained and he grunted, his hips stilling for a moment before he gave her a couple last, powerful, punctuated thrusts, spilling his seed deep inside her.

When she was finally coming back from her high—she had no idea how long it actually lasted; longer than usually, that she was sure of—, spent and her bones feeling like jello, she just collapsed on top of him, trying to catch her breath.

It took her a while to start forming coherent thoughts again, but when she did, she was sure of a couple of things. One: Grant Ward’s chest made an excellent pillow. Two: she was _so_ going to feel it tomorrow. Three: this was just about the best orgasm she had ever had—counting both those she had been given and those she had to thank herself. And four: somebody was caressing her back, and it felt really, really good.

“Um…” she murmured against the warm skin of his chest, still panting a little, her eyes closing slowly in contentment. “You should know that I think you’ve just ruined every other man for me. Shame on you,” she said, trying to sound snarky, but honestly, not really succeeding. She was way too sated and comfortable and happy to snark.

He laughed—a deep, vibrating sound just under her ear—, meanwhile she felt him reach down and ease himself out of her. She let out a protesting little moan at the loss of contact; she had to find a way to get him back inside of her, and soon.

“That’s good,” he said at last, his voice low, seductive, “because I’d hate to share you anyway.”


	2. Surrender

“That’s good, because I’d hate to share you anyway,” he said, and he meant it.

It had been a long struggle for him, a battle he had fought with himself—denying his attraction for her, his raw need for her that went beyond—way beyond—his hunger for her body. For the longest time, he had tried to convince himself that it was a bad idea, a terrible idea, that nothing good would come out of it, that she didn’t want him that way, that it would be stupid and pointless, and that it was destined to end up being a disaster, but now that it finally happened, now that he gave up the fight and knelt at her feet in surrender, now he didn’t regret it a bit (it was so much more than what he’d imagined).

Sure, he knew, rationally, that it was a bad idea, and was afraid what would happen when—when, not if—his demons caught up with them, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d fight—and win—that battle when the time came, but until then—until then he was going to live in the moment.

Skye’s warm, sated weight pressing down on his body felt like heaven. The way her lashes brushed against his skin as her eyes fluttered closed, her breath tickling his chest as she let out a content sigh, her breasts pressed against his body, her hands finding resting place on his waist, her legs still spread, bracketing his hips, her juices, mixed with his seed—the reminder of their coupling—dripping from her core… He was half-sure he really was in heaven.

His hands on her head, caressing her silky hair, hands sliding down the length of her back, Skye let out a low, unintelligible murmur, then buried her head deeper into his chest.

He couldn’t help the deep chuckle that tore free from his lips.

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” he asked with a rare, teasing edge in his voice.

“No,” she answered, mumbling into his chest as she hugged his waist. “Maybe…” she corrected herself when he chuckled again. “You wore me out, okay?”

He tried not to be smug about that, he really did, but it was near impossible—he took a somewhat animalistic pride in the fact that he had been able to basically render her boneless, purring with pleasure. That it took only one round to…

Skye raised her head slightly and looked at him with narrowed eyes, but with a smile hiding at the corners of her mouth.

“Don’t gloat—it’s not attractive,” she told him, as if she was reading his mind; he couldn’t help the carefree chuckle that escaped his mouth. Skye only wrinkled her nose for a moment, stuck her tongue out at him, then laid her head on his chest once again.

“Are you really planning on sleeping on top of me?” he asked, brushing careful fingertips along her arms, trying to gently rouse her.

“Uh-um,” she nodded against his chest. “You’re comfy.”

Well, truth to be told, he was rather comfortable—more than that—, but he still wasn’t going to let her fall asleep just yet. He had more plans for the night.

Because he had had many women—some he wasn’t proud of—in his past, who were, most of the time, the kind that was enough to take once; bland, uninteresting, unimportant women, whom he had used for momentary relief; women he had met once, made it clear what he wanted and what he was willing to give, had a pleasant hour with them, and already forgot them by next morning. But Skye wasn’t that kind of woman—no, she was the kind that one couldn’t have enough of, the kind to be explored and worshipped.

And he was planning on doing exactly that.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping a notch as his hands grew bolder in their caressing, dipping lower and lower on her body, until he was skimming over the contours of her ass. She sighed contently, showing him that his ministrations weren’t unwelcome. “Because the night’s still young,” he slid his hands over her cheeks, giving them a confident squeeze, “we could be doing… other things… before slipping under the covers.”

She giggled against his chest, getting his innuendo, then pressed her lips against his pecs in response.

“And what exactly do you have in mind—oh!” she was saying, sliding slowly down his body to gain better access, pushing her core against his erection in the process. “Wow,” she whispered, before drawing an upward line on his chest with her tongue, sliding back up. “That’s impressive.”

Usually, it took him longer than that to recover and to be ready to go again (not to mention that he rarely met women he wanted to have twice), but Skye… Skye was incredible, a kind of minx he’d never get enough of, and it was doing things to him. Like making him painfully hard mere minutes after his most gratifying orgasm in years.

“This is exactly what I have in mind,” he said, deciding to reply to her earlier question instead of remarking on her “impressive” comment—gloating, after all, was not attractive. “For the rest of the night, again and again.”

He put his hand on the back of her neck, gently signaling her to raise her head. When she did, he guided her face towards his, trying to kiss her, but she kept pulling back—not saying no, but playing a game, making sure that their open mouths always stayed a hair’s breadth apart. First she drew back, forcing him to lean forward, and when he pulled back just a bit, it was her chasing him, making sure their hot breaths mingled, but their lips never touched. He could practically feel her grin against his mouth.

“Alright,” she said at last, still close enough that he could taste her words, grinding down on his hard member. “But you’ll need to do most of the work.”

He didn’t need to be told twice; grinning at her, and using her momentary lapse in attention, he pressed his lips against hers, giving her a searing, passionate kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth, then grabbed her hips, and quickly flipped them over, so she was on her back and him on top of her.

His lips leaving hers, she laughed out in delight, her arms sneaking around his neck, but he didn’t give her much time to be amused by his strength and skills in moving her body around. He kissed her again, nibbling at her lips, and then moving down on her neck in hurried, hungry fashion, turning her laughter into a needy moan.

Grabbing one of her thighs, he pulled her leg up, opening her up to him, which prompted her to put her foot on the small of his back, giving him all the encouragement he needed.

He didn’t waste his time—he grabbed himself, positioned his tip at her entrance, and pushed inside in one fluid stroke, making her gasp and arch her back.

Still coming down from the highs of her first orgasm, she was still warm and wet and ready for him, so there was no need for any further foreplay. He actually slipped in easier, with less resistance that at the first time—with him leading the act now, and with Skye knowing that she could, in fact, take his size, there was no nervous tension in her now, letting him slide in as it was their destiny to complete each other, both in body and soul.

He didn’t really give time to her to adjust, either; he started moving almost as soon as he was inside her to the hilt, pulling out almost entirely, before plunging back in. He started with a slow rhythm, looking at her face for any clues. She was evidently enjoying it—her eyes were shut in pleasure, but her mouth was open, forming a little O, with a soft moan escaping from her throat every time he hit home.

Encouraged by this, he increased his speed, going harder and faster, making the bed rock slightly under them. Bracing himself on one hand, he palmed her breast with the other, never once slowing down, then, when she let out a particularly loud moan and raised her hand to fondle her breast herself, pinching her nipple, he grabbed her leg, the one that was around his hip, and pulled it forward, until her calf was resting on his shoulder, hoping to get a new, deeper angle with this move.

And it worked, worked beautifully.

This slightly new position let him hit a place inside of her that made her freeze up almost instantly, her body tensing, her toes curling, her hands grabbing at the sheets, her walls clamping down on him, and a loud cry erupting from her lips as she came.

He had never seen—at least not firsthand—an orgasm so sudden and so intense, but here it was, making her tremble under him, with her head thrown back, and her core spasming around him.

It was beautiful.

Not yet close to the climax himself to come with her, he slowed his thrusts down, moving together with her body’s own rhythm, helping her ride the orgasm out. When her body calmed down enough that her core only contracted sporadically around him, the tension left her body, and she just lay there, relaxed and panting, he stopped moving, too, stilling himself inside of her with considerable self-control, letting her to come back down.

“That was it?” he asked, now really sounding smug, as he carefully set her leg down from his shoulder. “That’s enough for you to lose control?”

She cracked an eye open and gave him an exasperated look.

“Oh, shut up,” she told him, without any edge of her voice. “It’s been a while,” he was sure not as long as for him, “and I’m not going to further inflate your ego with singing… oh… odes about what a great lover you are.”

Still inside her, his nerves on fire, urging him to move, he grinned down at her.

“But you can’t deny that I’m… good,” he said, punctuation the last word with a gentle thrust of his hips, making her gasp.

“You are terrible!” she said, almost laughing, then she, too, angled her hips to take him deeper once again. “Still have fuel to go?”

He pulled out slightly, then back in, almost in slow motion.

“Ready when you are.”

This time he really started out slow, letting her dictate the rhythm, what felt good for her and her body that must have been hypersensitive after two orgasms in under half an hour, even though she had said that now it’d be him who’d have to do most of the work.

He moved in a steady rhythm, carefully increasing his pace, making sure that she could take it. She was out of it for a little while, unable to keep up with him—she just let him take her, whimpering in pleasure with her eyes half-closed, her senses still veiled by her latest climax, but soon she was back with him, meeting thrust for thrust, her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh, anchoring herself to him, moaning and urging him to go faster.

And he did; their coupling soon turned frantic, making the bed rock and the mattress creak as he plunged into her and she thrust her hips forward, eager to meet him. Her legs around his hips and her nails leaving red lines on the skin of his back, as they moved as if there was no tomorrow.

It was a matter of pride to make her come again; he didn’t care that she had already reached her climax once since they had started this round—finishing without pulling her with him was not an option.

He could feel his own orgasm coming—tension was coiling in the base of his spine, urging him to go even faster (even though he didn’t think that was possible). Without slowing down even a bit, he reached down between them to seek out her clit, to rub and pinch it, helping her to come. She raised her hand from his shoulder almost immediately, and grabbed his wrist—not to pull him away, but to keep his hand firmly there between them, and guiding it to the right place, showing him where she wanted him the most.

When he hit the right spot, she cried out again.

The next moment he got too lost in pleasure for his mind to fully function. Skye tightened her walls around him as he plunged back in, making him see stars behind his eyelids as his restrains finally snapped—his body stilled in the sudden eruption of sensation, all of his nerve endings tingling and humming as he emptied himself into her.

Giving her a couple last, rigid, punctuated thrusts, he could feel her body vibrate with his in harmony, her walls clamping down then letting go, while her back arched and her mouth opened to a silent scream, telling him know that he’d reached his goal—she was there with him, too.

In the next moment, nothing existed—not the bed, not the hotel room, not their teammates down the hall, not even the monsters hiding in the shadows—only him, stripped bare, mask thrown aside, and the beautiful, amazing girl under him.

Only Grant and Skye.

Afterwards, he collapsed next to her, on his back, panting and laughing and trying to catch his breath, brushing his sweaty hair out of his forehead.

Skye moved without him realizing that she was moving—she turned around, throwing a leg over his thigh and laying her head on his chest. Once settled, she let out a content sigh.

“You make a really good pillow, you know that, right?” she asked, her voice muffled by his skin. He chuckled.

“It’s not something I’ve been told before,” he said, maneuvering her so he could pull the cover over their bodies.

“It’s a shame—because you do.”

“Was that a compliment?”

She laughed against his chest as he covered her shoulders with the duvet, tucking her in.

“Just don’t let it get to your head,” she mumbled, burrowing deeper into the soft bedding.

“I’ll try.”

“Anyways…” she said, her sentence interrupted by a yawn. “You really are a great lover.”

And then she was asleep.

Grant, deciding that there were far worse things than falling asleep intertwined with a girl he had just made love to, put his arm around her shoulder and closed his eyes.


	3. Doubt

For a moment, he had no idea what woke him. Everything seemed to be in order—he was in bed, undisturbed; it was an unfamiliar one, true, but that shouldn’t have bothered him. Even through his closed eyelids, he knew that darkness reigned over the room, still deep into the night. He lay still, not moving a muscle—not giving away that he was awake—, listening, but he couldn’t hear anything save for the distant noise of cars passing by down the street.

It took him almost a full minute realize that what woke him wasn’t anything that was there, but something that _wasn’t_.

He had fallen asleep with Skye’s warm weight on his chest, the sweet scent of her shampoo in his nose, and now he was alone in bed. For a moment, he almost panicked—was their lovemaking just a desire-induced dream?—, but then he realized that he was naked under the covers, and that calmed him (he never slept naked; it was tactically unwise—what if he was attacked during the night?).

Opening his eyes he sat up slowly, looking around. The room was engulfed in near-darkness, but he could still make out the rumpled shapes of their clothes strewn around on the floor—his shirt in a far corner, her pants by the end of the bed. And then there she was—standing by the window in her naked glory, a dim vision in the weak light of the street lamps, gazing out at the outside world.

A small, grateful smile on his lips—she was there, with him, in the flesh—, he pulled the duvet away and stood up slowly.

“Hey,” he said softly, making her aware of him. A slight tremble ran through her body at his voice, but then she turned around to look at him, a tentative, almost shy smile on her lips as she crossed her arms under her breasts. “You are going to catch a cold.”

She shrugged.

“I’m okay,” she said, but she still let him drape the blanket he’d taken from the bed on her shoulders. She grabbed the edge of the fabric and pulled it close to her chest before turning away from him once again, her gaze returning to the window.

“Is everything okay?” he asked with rising concern, lifting a hand, but hesitating for a moment—could he do that? Was he allowed to touch her?—before daring to place it on her upper arm.

She covered his hand with hers a moment later.

“Yeah, it’s just…” she said after a short pause, trailing off, the end of her sentence left hanging, still not looking at him. “Stand with me for a bit?”

He nodded and took half a step closer to her, until he was standing right behind her and could slip his arms around her middle. Moments like this always made him realize how small she really was, at least compared to him—he could have tucked her head under his chin if he wanted, and her body felt alarmingly thin and fragile in his arms.

Skye was tense for a moment, then she relaxed, and let herself lean onto him, her back pressed against his chest. She took a deep breath, then released it slowly (he felt it all—how her ribcage expanded, then collapsed again), meanwhile keeping her eyes on the street below. He followed her gaze.

The streets of Dublin were mostly quiet this time of the night. Only a few cars passed in front of the hotel, spattering water from the puddles that lay on the side of the road. It had rained while they slept; the asphalt was shiny with rainwater, and the fresh leaves of the trees lining the street were heavy with raindrops. The whole picture was cold, slimy, grey, almost depressing.

He didn’t like the Irish Spring; its wet coolness didn’t match the mood—he didn’t want it to match the mood—of the night. He longed for the Italian Spring, or the Spring of the Riviera—warm, balsamic, full of sunshine. But you can’t get everything you want, right? You have to make peace with what you get.

And currently, regardless of the mournful weather outside, he was rather content with what he had.

“I’m an impulsive person,” Skye said suddenly, shattering the quiet melancholy of the moment; her voice was barely more than a whisper, and she was staring ahead, speaking to the windowpane. He could barely make out her reflection in the glass. “I act and think later. Or don’t think at all…” she trailed off, closing her eyes for a moment. She placed her hand on top of his. “And I do stupid things. Irresponsible things. Inconsiderate things. Things that I regret.”

Grant swallowed, keeping still like a sculpture.

“Do you regret tonight?” he asked, straight to the point, face blank, voice emotionless. There was no point in playing games.

He could understand if she had regretted it—he was not the guy you wanted to get settled with, he knew that. He was not… boyfriend-material. But still, heavens help him, there was this strange feeling in his chest when he was with this amazing girl, a feeling a lot like happiness, and he didn’t want to lose that.

He didn’t want to lose her.

She took her time to answer.

“No,” she said at last, slipping her fingers between his. “Not like that. It was… amazing. It’s just…” She sighed.

“It’s just?”

She hung her head for a moment, then turned around and looked up at his face. Gazing into his eyes, she raised her hand—the blanket slipped from her shoulders—, and cupped his face in her palm.

“You weren’t yourself today—all that rage, and then we were drinking, and I…” she trailed off, but she didn’t even have to finish the sentence.

He took her wrist into his hand, then brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm.

“Nothing happened that I didn’t want to happen,” he assured her. “I told you that.”

“I know, but–“

He didn’t let her finish. Letting her hand drop, he cupped her face, leaned in, and sealed her mouth with a kiss.

It wasn’t like their previous, passion-fueled kisses of the night; there was no hunger here, only reassurance. His lips pressed against hers in a silent, unhurried act before pulling away and resting his forehead against hers, his thumb caressing her cheek.

“No buts. I…” He trailed off, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It wasn’t the Staff, or the alcohol, that brought me to do this—or, ultimately, maybe it was. Maybe that was the trigger. But still—what brought me to you was… you. You, and nothing else. You, Skye, you…” He sighed. “You have opened up something inside of me I didn’t even know existed. And it didn’t happen today. It happened… It’s been happening for weeks. Today was just the day when I finally gave in—to you.”

She didn’t answer right away. She closed her eyes and stepped away from him, half turning towards the window again. He could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, counting the seconds, before she spoke again.

“You know, thinking about it, I think this whole thing was inevitable,” she said quietly, slowly turning back towards him, eyes still cast down. “But still… it happened—and maybe it shouldn’t have. And it’s a big deal. We can’t just sweep it under the rug, forget it happened and never talk about it again. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I could go back to what it was before now.”

He took a step towards her and put his hand on her hip.

“Me neither.” There was a foreign urgency in his voice; he needed her to know that he felt the same way.

“Then what now?” she asked, finally looking up at him. “What do we do now, Grant?”

He couldn’t answer right away. Instead he placed his free hand on her shoulder and drew her close to him, letting the bare lengths of their bodies press together, her soft curves against his hard planes, her head tucked under his chin, letting him inhale the sweet scent of her hair. She let him.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he said at last. “We’ll take as it comes?”

He felt her chuckle against his chest.

“What, no strategy, Mr. Super Spy?”

He wanted to laugh with her—he could see the irony, too—, but instead he pushed her slightly away from his body so he could look into her eyes.

“Look, I’m not… I don’t do relationships.” Even in the near darkness he saw her face fall, so he quickly continued. “I don’t know how—so you’ll have to teach me, alright?”

There was a moment of confusion, of a myriad of thoughts fighting for dominance in her gaze, looking up at him at first puzzled, then with tentative hope. A small smile formed on her lips at last.

“So… what you are saying is that _I_ should be _your_ S.O.?”

This actually made him chuckle.

“I haven’t thought about it that way…” he said, grinning. “But in a way, yes.”

“Well, then,” she said, her eyelids dropping in a seductive way, her face angled towards his. “Lesson number one,” she continued, but then let the end of the sentence hang in the void as she raised herself to the tip of her toes, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek, and kissed him.

It was a lot like the kiss they shared only minutes ago, languid, unhurried and sweet, but somehow heavier on the meaning. It was not just the act of the body, but a silent promise; an unsung ballad in the way how her lips pressed against his, caressing and begging and offering, soft and slow, but confident and sure.

Her eyes sparkled when she pulled away from him and looked into his eyes.

“Kiss me like that every day. That’s the first lesson.”

Still dazed a little, his forehead resting against hers, he watched her, his gaze moving between her eyes and her lips. There were so many things he wanted to tell her; so many secrets and promises, of how he’d do that, how he’d kiss her like that every day for the rest of their lives of she wanted that, and how he was willing to do so much more, how she was everything he had ever wanted and more, but he just couldn’t find the right words to say all these things.

So instead he remained silent, and kissed her again.

Now, this kiss was different; there was fire, wild, raging fire in it. His arms sneaked around her trim waist, pulling her close, pressing her body against his as he coaxed her mouth open. Suddenly he was hyperaware of their nakedness—of how her nipples were hard against his chest, and how her skin was warm in the coolness of the room; how her hair tickled his bare shoulder, and how her legs brushed against his.

Her closeness set his blood ablaze. His heart was racing and he just couldn’t get enough of her; his hands danced a mad dance on her body, trying to be everywhere at once, trying to feel as much of her as he could, sliding down the gentle slope of her back, to her round backside, then up again until the heels of his hands brushed against the swell of her breasts, while he continued kissing her, lips crashing and nibbling and brushing and fighting. And she was the same—she picked up the new pace quickly, and pressed her whole body against his, from toes to mouth, her hands gripping his upper arms before travelling to his shoulders, then sliding down, her nails leaving red imprints on his skin as she moaned into his mouth.

He needed her. He needed her closer and quivering and panting and chanting his name. He needed her.

And, apparently, the feeling was mutual.

Leaving her mouth to come up for air, his lips travelled down her neck, making her sigh and actually whine with want. At the same time, she pulled her hips away slightly, reached down between them, and grabbed his rapidly hardening member, giving him a confident squeeze.

He bit into her shoulder in surprise.

“Please,” she panted into his ear, her other hand holding his head close, fingers buried in his hair. “I need you.”

It was like an electric current ran through his body; he doubted he would ever get tired of hearing this.

He would have pushed into her right then, only now he faced a problem posed by something he had found endearing until then—she was short. Well, maybe not short, but considerably shorter than him, and so instead of slipping between her thighs, standing like this, he was poking her lower stomach. He need her elevated, and fast.

The bed, to be honest, seemed way too far away (even though the distance couldn’t have been more than five or six paces). He thought about picking her up and pressing her against the wall so he could slide into her, but there was no good section of wall for that nearby (damn the lamps and paintings). The floor… to be honest, the floor didn’t seem that appealing. But then, looking around in a somewhat frantic manner (his blood was chanting her name in his ears, urging him to take her, and take her _now_ ), he found the solution.

Two steps from them to his right, there was a table—some strange, modern design, with multi-leveled surface, that only held a vase of flowers and some hotel stationery on the highest level. But honestly, he didn’t care about how it looked or what was on it—what he cared about was that it looked sturdy enough to bear Skye’s weight and that it had a lower shelf, close to the carpet, just high enough that if she stepped on top of it, she’s be at the perfect height for him.

Claiming her lips again with impatient hunger, and reaching down himself to cup her mound, slipping one finger between her folds, he gently steered her towards the table. When her backside hit the edge of the table, he stopped and pulled away, his hands sliding to her hips.

“From behind?” he asked almost self-consciously, not sure whether she’d like that position or not (it was just occurring to him—he had so much to learn about her, even sex-wise. And honestly, he couldn’t wait to discover every little kink of hers).

“Oh, yes,” she answered with sparkling eyes, obviously aroused by the idea. She turned around right away and, almost as if she could read his mind, placed one foot on that lower shelf, pushing herself higher.

He hadn’t considered it before—at least not from this angle—, but Skye from behind, especially from behind and _naked_ , was a sight to behold. Her shoulders were thin and her arms had soft contours (although he could already see the fruition of their workouts in the slowly forming muscles of her upper arms), but her back was beautifully toned, with her spine a graceful line running down in the middle of it. There were two little indentations on the small if her back begging to be kissed, and a small beauty spot, just a shade or two darker than her skin, on her left hip. And her ass… oh, her ass was something to die for.

He could have spent the whole night just marveling at her beauty, but by then he was painfully hard, and he just needed to be inside of her, as soon as possible.

“You are gorgeous,” he growled into her ear, one hand sneaking in front of her body and cupping her breast, pinching her nipple (making her gasp), while the other slid down her leg, grabbing it just under her knee, and pulling it upwards, until it rested on the table, opening her up for him.

It was a real struggle, not pounding into her right away, when she was there, right in front of him, ready to ravished, seeing her wet core glisten in the dim light of the streetlamps that stole into the room, but he held back. He knew from their previous encounter that she needed more foreplay than that to be ready to take him. So he continued massaging her breast, eliciting low, keening noises from her, while his free hand slid down the length of her back, tracing the line of her spine. When he reached the curve of her ass, he gave her a slight slap—more playful than anything—, making her gasp, then pushed his hand between her legs, seeking out her core.

She was wet, but not enough; he could slip two fingers inside her with relative ease, but he could still feel the slight tension as her slit strained against his digits, struggling to take him. So he curled his fingers inside of her and pulled them slowly out before pushing them back in, working her gently, while caressing her walls with his fingertips.

His ministrations were awarded almost immediately—she was panting and whimpering in front of him, her hips moving in a slow rhythm to match his movements, while the tension in her core slowly eased and her juices began dripping, so he added another finger and increased his pace, making her whimper.

“Mmm… please,” she moaned in a low, hoarse voice. “Stop teasing.”

Who was he to deny her anything?

He pulled his fingers from her core (she whimpered at the loss of contact), then took hold of his member and slid it between her lips, coating himself in her juices, but not entering her.

“This is what you want?” he asked, pushing his member a little forward, until his tip just brushed against her clit, making her gasp.

“Yes!” she cried, leaning forward and pushing her ass against him. She was getting desperate, her mind hazed by unfulfilled lust, and he was right there with her.

So he didn’t waste any more time—he pulled back a little, just so he could position the tip of his erection at her center, then, without any further delay or teasing, he slid home.

Being sheathed inside of her was just as euphoric as the first and the second time, and his mind went pleasantly blank for a moment, almost making him miss her ecstatic moan (she was loud; he was slowly starting to see that it would pose a problem, should they continue their… cardio exercises on the Bus).

After a moment of stillness, he started moving—she was warm and wet and welcoming, as he slipped in and out of her with ease. This position, with her standing with one foot on the lower shelf, the knee of her other leg on the top of the table, offered them a completely new angle—this way her core actually got higher than his member, so he had to thrust upwards, hitting parts of her he couldn’t have hit before.

And, at least from the sounds that were leaving her mouth, she was enjoying it.

Encouraged by her moans and his own urging need, he was soon pounding into her with vehemence, making the whole table rock. Getting lost in the pleasure, it was slowly getting harder for her to keep and stay upright, so he grabbed her ankle—the one on the table—with one hand, and her hip with the other, keeping her steady, while he kept thrusting into her in a crazed rhythm, grunting loudly with each stabbing movement of his hips (he was usually quiet in bed; the things she was doing to him…).

He soon forgot about the world around them; it was just her, the soft expanse of her back and the waterfall of her hair, and her hot, velvet walls, squeezing around him.

He knew with absolute clarity that this was the place he wanted to stay until the end of days.

She kept moaning and whimpering and crying out loud, trying to keep herself up with her hands pressed against the glossy surface of the table, but he was pounding into her with such force that her hands kept slipping forward, while her breasts bounced with every powerful thrust of his hips.

“Getting there?” she asked when she somehow managed to turn backwards halfway, trying to look at him. The slight change in angle made him hit yet another so far uncharted part of her, and Skye cried out once again, throwing her head back.

Yes, he was getting there, and getting there fast; he could already feel the coiling tension in the base of his spine and in his groin, the overwhelming wave of pleasure waiting to be released.

“Almost,” he managed to grunt out, increasing his pace even more.

Skye didn’t answer; she simply somehow managed to put her weight on one arm, even with his assault going on, then slipped her free hand between her legs and started rubbing her clit furiously, her fingers brushing time and time again against his member as he pounded into her.

And that was it.

The next moment the world stilled and focused to one point, that one point being her hot core, her walls tight around him. He ceased his fast rhythm, changing to slow, jerking, punctuating thrusts as he shot his seed inside of her in spurts.

With stars dancing behind his closed eyelids and his ears buzzing as his climax washed over him, leaving all of his nerve endings buzzing with pleasure, he was vaguely aware of her walls contracting around him in neat intervals, signaling that she, too, had fallen over the edge. He opened his eyes, and saw her, hand still between her legs, head arching backwards, lids lowered and mouth hanging open in one last, drawn out, lustful moan, but the sound was lost to him.

When the sounds returned, and the world was on axis again, he fell forward, panting, and barely being able to catch himself before he crushed her, as she lay on the top of the table on her stomach, trying to catch her breath, one leg lying next to her in an awkward fashion, the other hanging in the air.

He carefully reached between them and pulled his softening member—dripping from her juices and his seed mixed together—from her core, making her whimper at the loss of contact, then he let himself lie on top of her, careful not to put his full weight on her. His hot, heaving chest resting against her back, and his cheek pillowed on her shoulder blade, he pressed a kiss to the base of her neck.

“You are amazing,” he whispered, his eyelids dropping for a moment as he let himself get engulfed in her sweet, post-coital scent. She hummed contently under him.

“You are not bad yourself, either,” she answered, slowly stirring, signaling to him that she wanted to get up. “And you know what?” she asked, her voice hoarse and low from the pleasure still coursing through her veins as she pushed herself up from the tabletop. “This could be lesson number two—good sex. Good sex is a cornerstone of a good relationship,” she said, standing upright—albeit seemingly on slightly shaky legs—once again, turning towards him, and putting her arms around his neck. “Not that you have any problems in this regard.” Standing on the tip of her toes, she gave him a quick, sweet kiss. “And now, take me to bed.”


	4. Serenity

She woke slowly, gradually.

Strangely enough, the first thing she became aware of was that her hair, that tangled mess, was in her face as she lay on her side. Then came the fact that the sheets were caressing her body, her whole body—meaning that she was naked. Then she realized that she had something warm and solid and delicious right behind her.

And then, only then did she notice the gently exploring, soft lips on her neck.

Then she felt the mild, pleasurable ache between her legs, and realized that the natural heater in the bed with her was actually Grant, and suddenly all that had happened the night before clicked together.

She had slept with her S.O.—multiple times, actually. And they had not just simply banged—they _made love_ (and yeah, banged on the table), and talked, actually _talked_ about longing and feelings and relationships, and they kinda-sorta agreed that this _thing_ between them was worth exploring.

So now they were basically dating.

And she had an irking that the thought of this was supposed to freak her out, but it didn’t. In fact, she wasn’t scared or uncomfortable or hesitant or even feeling like she had done a big mistake. In fact, the thought of this made her giddy.

“I get that you’re up with the sun,” she said softly, her voice still hoarse with sleep, as she snuggled deeper into his chest. “But do you really have to wake me up, too? You know I’m supposed to have the day off today, right?” she teased him.

“Sorry, I had to,” he answers, his lips trailing down her neck. “I’m hungry, and you are so…” He bit into the juncture of her neck, making her squeal. “Delicious.”

“So now you are going to… _devour me_?” Two could play this game.

“Exactly,” he answered, sneaking a hand in front of her, and cupping her breast, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She sighed contently. What a way to wake up!

“I assume you slept well?” she asked, trying to focus on his ministrations – he was moving up on her neck again—and her own words at the same time.

“Amazingly,” he answered, his breath tickling her skin, raising goosebumps. “I was completely… thoroughly…  _spent_ by the time I got to bed…” he told her, punctuating every item with a kiss, “then I saw glorious dreams…” A lick just behind the shell of her ear, making her tremble. “And I woke up with a beautiful girl in my arms. Best night in a long, long time.”

She chuckled—what was soon turned into a moan as he sucked her earlobe into his mouth—, but didn’t really know what she could say. This version of Grant was strange to her—not bad, not at all, just… foreign. Who would have thought that dropping her defenses (and throwing away her common sense) would lead to this? Would make him open up, and show this side of him—this free, teasing, alluring man? (Or that he was there under the surface all along?)

Not that she was complaining.

He hit a ticklish spot, and she giggled, her body jerking; she could feel his grin against her neck.

“So you’re ticklish…” (The _too_ was implied, she knew.)

She wanted to protest (although what point it could have had, she had no idea), but he didn’t let her. Well, technically, he did—he didn’t occupy her mouth—, it’s just he kept doing things to her that greatly interfered with her verbal abilities.

He kept kissing her neck and shoulder, gently nipping the soft, sensitive skin, while he continued playing with her breast, and, his other hand sliding under her head, he buried his fingers in her hair. The last remnants of sleep soon left her body, making her hyper-aware of everything, from the softness of the sheets to the hard contours of his chest against her back, while a different feeling filled up her veins.

Lust.

Heat was pooling between her legs, her nipples hardened to pebbles, her body was sighing for him, and the ache in her core intensified, this time demanding attention. Demanding him.

(So it was his plan all along, from the first teasing kiss he had woken up her with. Not that it bothered her the slightest.)

She pushed against him, seeking friction, and finding exactly what she hoped to find.

“It really feels like you are up and ready… for the day,” she said before losing control of her voice and letting out an embarrassingly loud moan as he pinched her nipple. “And that you are having a good morning.”

“The best,” he answered, tilting his hips forward, pushing his hardened member against her, so the tip slid just between her tights (she wanted more). “Always the best with you.”

With that, he let go of her breast and slid his hand down, down her stomach (her muscles contracted under his touch), until the tip of his fingers reached the gentle slope of her mound, stroking the sensitive skin, before thrusting one finger forward, slipping it between her lips, and finding her clit.

She bit back a moan.

“It feels like I’m not the only one ready,” he whispered into her ear hoarsely, rubbing her clit harder before pushing the finger deeper in, until he reached her entrance. “You are so wet… and warm… I bet you can’t think of anything right now… just of me… sliding into you…” he told her in a low, seductive voice, working her, slowly making her lose her mind.

The first digit of his finger slipped into her, and she whined. She wasn’t proud of it, but she did.

“Oh, yes,” she said, although even she wasn’t sure whether it was an answer to what he was saying, or just an enthusiastic exclamation. “Yes… please…” she almost whined, her hips jerking forward, forcing his finger deeper.

“What? What do you want?” he breathed into her ear before biting her gently just under her jawline, soothing the mild sting with his tongue. “You just have to ask, Skye…”

She growled.

“You are terrible,” she said, her words punctuated by another moan, as he hit a sweet spot inside her. “Don’t make me beg!”

“What do you want?” he echoed stubbornly, adding another finger. It still wasn’t enough.

She caved in.

“I want you! Just take me already!”

He kissed her neck once again, sucking at the delicate skin.

“As you wish.”

She almost wanted to ask if he knew the implications of his words, but didn’t get the chance to—for the next moment he withdrew his hand, slightly lifted her leg, then, guiding himself with his other hand, he pushed into her.

The feel of him was still overwhelming—her walls strained the best possible way to accommodate him, forcing a breathy moan out of her as she shut her eyes in pleasure.

He kept still for a moment, letting her adjust—then pulled almost completely out, and pushed in once again. The position didn’t really let him to go too fast or too hard, but the angle was just perfect. She didn’t mind the pace, either—it somehow made their lovemaking more intense, more intimate.

He moved in a steady pace, softly grunting into ear whenever he pushed in, keeping a hand on her hip, keeping her close, and keeping their movements in tandem, helping her match thrust for thrust. As suddenly as lust had awakened in her, now the fire was as slow to fill her veins, slowly burning her from the inside. She felt as if electricity was running through all of her nerve endings, giving her a little jolt whenever he hit home, finding just the one place inside her that nobody had ever found before.

It was great, but it was driving her mad—she enjoyed the hike, the slow, enchanting journey, but she wanted to be at the peak already, to enjoy the feeling of being on the top of the world. So she reached down, grabbed his wrist, and pulled his hand to her center.

“Make me come,” she said in a breathy whisper between his thrusts.

He needed no other incentive; he got to work right away, finding her clit, that sensitive, excited little bundle of nerves, and started rubbing it with his fingertips—slowly, gently at first, as if they were at the foreplay still, and he was trying to get her wet and ready, but then he started going harder and faster, even quickening the movements of his hips.

She was slowly becoming… erratic. There was no better word for it – her fluid movements were turning into forceful jerks, her breathing was coming in sharp, little pants, and she felt like as if her body wanted to curl around itself as the tension grew in her core, her walls tightened around him, and the base of her spine started tingling, the sensation spreading to the tip of her toes and to the top of her head.

And then it just snapped.

She reached the peak, and it was divine. Pleasure erupted in every cell of her body and her spine arched and her toes curled and she all but cried as her walls clamped around him, forcing him to push even harder.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept going, with carefully measured thrusts, drawing out her orgasm, until he came, too, his whole body stilling for a moment before he gave her a last couple of jerking thrusts, moaning into her ear as his hand—the one that wasn’t still between her legs—fisted in her hair and he spilled his seed into her.

Afterwards, they stilled; they didn’t say a word as their hearts slowly calmed down and their breathing evened out. Once her last, sporadic spasms stopped, he gently pulled out of her, but didn’t inch away—no, he put his arm around her middle and pulled her close.

It was a like a second awakening as her body came down from the height of her climax. She started noticing new things, things she hadn’t paid attention to before—things like, for example, that the early morning sunlight was streaming in through the window, a beam hitting her shoulder, warming her skin. Or that there were birds singing on the trees in front of the hotel. Or that Grant had a musky, earthy scent, that was truly him, nothing artificial added. And that his stubble was tickling her neck, sending little pleasure-shocks through her body.

She sighed contently, burrowing deeper into him—and, to her surprise, he mirrored the move, tightening the arm around her waist and nuzzling his nose against her neck. He let out a little, happy breath. She chuckled.

“So you are into cuddling, too?” she teased, intertwining their fingers.

“I’m not,” he protested weakly, taking a deep breath, inhaling her scent in, and skimming his fingertips along the smooth skin of her stomach. “It’s just you are good to have close.”

“So I’m a good to cuddle.” She felt his smile against her neck. “Just admit it—it won’t hurt.”

“Can’t you stay quiet for a minute?”

And she did; for a minute. But then asked, “Do we have to get up?”

“Not yet,” he answered, pulling her even closer, as if the mere thought of parting with her made him uncomfortable. “We can stay for a little longer; Coulson’s not in hurry to leave unless we get an urgent call.”

“Hm… okay,” she said with dropping eyelids, then turned around in his arms to face him. She pushed her head under his chin, put her arms around him, and sighed contently. “Then I’m staying in bed a little longer.”

“Good call,” was his only response as he kissed the top of her head, then ran his fingers through her hair, playing with her locks.

She got a full ten minutes of rest before their phones started ringing (somewhere in their pants pockets on the floor). Apparently, even if she felt like she was in heaven, the world didn’t stop turning.


End file.
